Who wants it anyway?

That magic rubbish without a sound on occasion.

For us day by day

To guard against its annoying invasion.

Down with this sign!

What must it signify?

A “window?”

Ha!

Go purify your lingo!

An AI will construct an optimal list

Of words and ways without this symbol.

Primordial syllabary had grown ungainly,

With a count of thousands, to...

...26, and now from that to 25!

A worthy goal, to put it plainly.

Am… dozing off, ... succumbing to visions...

Of far going…and spunky abscisions....

...A royal dominion occupying king is in.

An ominous ring is surrounding him:

A lion of sharp claws,

A bird holding a bag of pins,

A virgin with jaunty bosoms,

A dark song is chirping on.

It is astonishing.

I’m staying strong.

“You, burglar, pal of silly thoughts,

Now follow us through winding roads

To royal tasks of glorious wins

To dragon fight of gloomy dins.

Our trip consists of tricky ways,

Our pity rivals snort in vain,

Our happy troubadours sing lays

Whilst staying only in your brain.

You won’t find windows. Woods thick woods

Surround narrow twirling paths.

Sharp minds mock passions of childhoods

With lust. Now go and find your wrath.”

I saw fangs cutting at my throat

Tits sniffing at my nostrils

Nails sticking out from my coat

Loud nordic songs and australs…

Windows, windows, I want windows!

Air, light must go through in and out!

What was that… an old saga of sorts?…

Bag of pins in a bird’s bill..

bosoms... burglar… ring… dragon. Ah!

Bilbo Baggins! An old fictitious fool.

Innocuous vision it was not

It had a worthy clout.

Truth said, that sign assists a lot.

Good harmony to us it taught

You saw your stanzas work with it

And now you saw without.

“What is love but a bodily function?

What is passion? A quest for relief.

In this world of unending distractions,

Love and passion are miserly thieves.”

From a rhymed narration by Sir David Paul, “Bodily Functions,” cir. 1895

Getting Settled

Finally, in my seat. Not very comfortable, telling you. It’s in the middle, between two other passengers. Breakfast meeting, delay with Uber, airport security, and as a result landing into a three-hour “sandwich.” I won’t describe my neighbors. (They might see what I’m typing.) It’s not a perfect situation. I’m squished. Running out of batteries, nowhere to charge them in economy. But I’m bored and in a substantial discomfort, will hurry up to scribe myself out of this three hour misery.

Would you like any snack or refreshments, sir?

Yes, water and tomato juice please, and what do you have here… yes, I’ll take it.

The Complaint

It is not nice. My work is not nice to me. We’ve been on the road for the last fifteen days. Three conferences, endless presentations, hotels, flights. A group of five guys talking about a pill that ...makes you blush. It does some other important things that would not be so interesting here, but that blush feature is a gift of sorts. It’s a yellow pill, a happy color. There has been a ton of interest, we might make it big this time... but still it is not nice I must tell you, not nice at all.

Terrible, junk food everywhere and at all times, laundry service at hotels... they give me clothes all bleached up, I smell chlorine, probably... time zone changes, I can hardly focus on anything for longer than a few minutes, constant interruptions, distractions, demands.... All these discomforts. I’m getting disoriented from these trips. I must rearrange my life, the price is too high.

There is a side of the travelling salesforce adventures that many people do not fully understand. It has been romanticized in the movies: flirting with stewardesses and finding one night stands with random colleagues. The reality is a bit harsher. There simply isn’t enough time, not enough opportunity for anything, however casual. Who am I to meet and how? Should I try to seduce our prospective customers? Competitors? Bartenders? Prostitutes? But then as Sir David Paul quipped in his famous rhymed narration: “What may come easy, may fetch diseases.” It’s tough on the folks, and not very nice. If you don’t use it, you lose it. Those trips, they start getting to me.

My neighbors have been glancing at my screen, I have to cover it a bit... But can’t hide too much from their radiating stares, whatever they manage to read, fine, I’m giving up... It is quite messy with the snacks, drinks, small table, computer on it, passing things over my head...

- Careful, please! Don’t spill… It’s OK, let me wipe it out.

The Turbulence

Announcement. We must remain seated and buckled up because of a turbulence.

I closed the laptop, closed my eyes. Let’s meditate. There is a bright star, its light permeates through everything around it, it has its own planets, there is life on each of them, it sends the beams of warmth towards me, and my body, from head to toes, gets soaked in their heat, slowly, nicely, like I’m melting, all muscles relax, I become lighter, I start floating in the air, I see walrus, it’s looking into my eyes, showing its white tusks, flapping the flippers, moving away from me to hoard its harem; there are many birds; I see a dolphin with an erection, wait, dolphins have penises? I guess they must, but it’s very funny since they live in the ocean, swimming alongside fish, and it’s counter-intuitive to see them like other mammals, say a dog, it’s hilarious...

Sir, sir! Please, is anything the matter? You’ve been laughing a bit too intensely. Are you OK?

- I’m fine, I must have fallen asleep, sorry.

Yep, these sales trips must end and very soon.

The Restroom Break

It’s indicated in an announcement that the lunch would be served shortly. I had to go to the restroom, better run there quickly, before the food cart jams the aisle. I’d risen, and left neighbor let me go by.

As I was making my way to the back of the plane, I was looking at the passengers. Families, individuals, men, women, guys, gals: the mammals, the primates. It was a slow move on a busy path, and I was gradually stumbling through my way to the destination point. To keep things entertaining, I’d started imagining everyone I saw in the nude. The soft, the rough, the tanned, and the colorful - how they might look without their clothes on. That was quite a show. I’d tried to envision all in great detail, down to the shapes of their breasts, their nipple types, hairiness, tatooes, and whether someone might still feature a foreskin or gorge through life without one. The cabin population was generally good looking, and that fact cheered me up.

In the back of the plane now, the restroom was not occupied. I went in, locked up, pulled down my pants, and looked at myself in the mirror. Had anyone imagined me nude as I was walking through the aisle? What would they conclude, I wondered. After discharging a minor duty, I washed up and remained standing and looking, pants still down. For more than two weeks the business kept me preoccupied twenty four seven, and I have neglected an important need that forces itself on by way of erotic dreams and the “undressing-with-one’s-eyes” game. It was time that I took care of that. The deafening monotony of the working engine while somewhat interfering with my thoughts was also lulling, reassuring, and kept all other noises to a minimum.

The Frank Skies

I closed my eyes and started to recall who I saw on the way in. There were a few younger women, rather pretty. Why would they be naked and talking to me? What if we had a flight where nudity was mandatory? A special “Frank Skies” charter would allow no more than two thirds men paying triple price for a ticket while the ladies would enjoy such flights free of charge. The seats would be heated, feature soft disposable covers, and the cabin’s temperature would be kept warm. Every three adjacent seats must have at least one female in them.

After entering the cabin, we start undressing and folding clothes into special bags for a lock up storage. We would be given sheets and blankets instead....

Hello, this is my place 32E. How do you do? My name is Johny. (Nudity makes people more friendly, and not introducing yourself seems rude.)

Hi there, I am Gabriela.

Hi Gabriela, where are you from?

Barcelona, flying to visit my sister who lives in San Francisco.

But this plane is going to LA.

Yes, it’s a roundabout way but I wanted to do it because I loved the idea of this kind of a flight and besides it was free. Could you please help me with that hook behind, on my bra? Thank you.

This is the first time for me. Do you know if we could ask for a separate bag for our underwear?

I suppose so, or if not, you can borrow an extra bag from me.

Awesome, thank you. They are doing such a nice job with the microclimate controls that I don’t think I will need these blankets.

Yes, I agree, it’s like a mid-afternoon on a warm mediterranean beach.

If so, then we should also get wet at some point.

You are so funny.

Oh, no, I did not mean that way. Yes, my comment sounds jocular under the circumstances.

What do you do?

I am a salesman.

Selling what?

Now working for a pharmaceutical start up. We are selling a certain yellow pill.

What does it do?

Lots of important boring things but as a side effect, it makes you blush.

Blush? You mean like makes you red all over?

Yes, as if you were ashamed of something.

It makes me look ashamed even though I am not. That is a peculiar side effect. I hope that I never need such a pill but if I do, I will chose your yellow pill over others, just for the blush effect.

I hope that it will cure you of all your inhibitions as well.

I have none...

A Brutal Interruption

The door lock shook violently a few times. Then knock on the door with an insistent shout:

- Sir, my apologies but you’ve got to get out of there, we are in a turbulence again, we need you out of there for your safety.

My pants pulled up, I’d rushed out immediately and was shown to the strapontin, right by a stewardess, I had to buckle up. Then I saw another stewardess quickly sneaking into the restroom and locking the door. It all came with a woof of an unpleasant odor, and I understood that perhaps the rush was brazenly orchestrated for the benefit of a diaria stricken attendant.

Excuse me madame, are we indeed in the middle of a turbulence or someone sorely needed to go?

The turbulence is always a distinct possibility even in the most friendly of skies. So, that might have been it.

Well, then I could probably get going?

I’d wait, since the food cart is in the way. Besides…

...She glanced at my pants quickly and then set her eyes onto the white clouds in the window. I got it, of course! I had a slight but distinct protrusion, still waiting to calm down and currently vulnerable to an experienced look. I wondered what she was thinking. She might have wanted to suggest that I waited till the restroom was free and then went back to finish up or may be that a walk with the hard on would be embarrassing. I also wondered whether she was visualizing me naked at that moment. Do they have a hidden camera in the restroom or a special split between the doors to see what’s going on inside? My privacy might have been violated but I had no problem with that at all. I would even secretly want them to watch me. Let’s imagine that they did. This stewardess who was sitting next to me and the one who’d rushed in with a diarrhea. Were they surprised at what I was doing inside? Was it a business as usual for them? How many passengers on mid-range flights end up masturbating in the restroom? The flight attendants have probably gotten used to it by now. These thoughts did not help to calm me down, and so my pants got a repeat glance from my turbulence neighbor. She smiled.

The Seduction

While we were sharing this intimate moment and might have been sharing intimate thoughts, Jake the Dragon, one of our team, dashed in and tried the restroom lock. I’ve immediately put one leg on top of the other. Jake saw me.

Hey buddy, what are you doing out here?

Waiting out the turbulence.

What turbulence?... Anyway, you would not believe it, but we got so, so lucky. I just learned from our partners that they’ll be making an offer to buy us out. This means that we are going to strike it rich, very soon!

No, I can’t believe it, they did not seem to show any interest just a few hours ago!

Yep, that was apparently a negotiation tactic. They are going all in, with a fat, fat offer because they need it, our pill, they must have it, it’s a numbers game, as you know. Mam, did he tell you that we are selling a yellow pill that makes you blush?

Blush?

Yes, as a side effect, among other less interesting but more important things.

No, he did not, that’s interesting, indeed.

Oh, well, it looks like there is a bit of a line here, I will go try my luck on the other end.

Jake left. I stood up and looked at the aisle, it was clear of a cart.

There was no cart?

I guess not yet, they keep promising the lunch any moment now.

I thought that you said that there was a cart?

Oh, I thought that there already was one. Sorry!

No problem.

So, congratulations on your orange pill business.

Thank you, it’s a yellow pill.

Yellow, yes, the one that makes patients blush.

It’s a peculiar side effect.

My name is Zoe.

I’m Johny.

Pleased to meet you. After the flight attendant is out of there, may I go in first and then you can go back? I assume that you have nothing too urgent but for me it is kind of getting there.

Sure, no problem. So, you pulled me out of the restroom for your colleague?

I? Oh, no, it’s the flight attendant who knocked. I think that she must have had an upset stomach.

I see. Shouldn’t you be working now, since there is no turbulence?

Not here, that’s not where I work...Ah, you mean my uniform. I am a post office inspector out on a business trip, not a flight attendant, oh no. (She laughed.)

My apologies.. Zoe, I did not mean to...

What,...make me blush?

Yes (I smiled), that’s what we do to people, make them blush.

Over there in the restroom, you spent about twenty minutes, did you realize that?

No, I had no idea. You know, the restroom, at times, is a place for me to roominate about things far and close. I’m less likely to get bored and irritated in there than being sandwiched in a middle seat between two strangers.

I am glad that we’re hanging out here. We both got lucky with a “stranger” while waiting for someone else to attend to her bodily functions.

That’s right!

Tell me Johny, it’s none of my business, of course… I could not but notice that you did not dispatch there your “needs” but were, may be, trying to take care of your “wants.”

The line between those two is rather blurry, at least for me, a busy, traveling salesman. I have not been home for two weeks with another five days to go.

And what’s at home?

Comfort, some people I know…

I like you Johny, I like you. We have a perfect situation. This is the stuff the movies are made of. I am so happy that your friend came in to melt the ice, we would have never had this conversation. Anyway, wait for me out here, I need no more than a few minutes, then come in. The flight attendants will be serving lunch and no one is going to bother us, no passengers: blocked by a lunch cart; no stewardesses: busy with the lunch cart. Besides, the one in there now owes you a favor for breaking your perfect moment with yourself.

I understand, yes, are you serious?

Sure, why not?

Are you married, kids?

Kids, divorced, semi-divorced, but why does it matter? Why? We are just talking about a short while together and then going away to our own respective businesses.

Just like that to discharge our needs and wants and go back to selling pills and postal duties as if nothing happened?

Why nothing happened? I will always cherish these moments: our conversation and what will take place inside the restroom. That is quite sufficient for me.

Aren’t you afraid that I might be infected with some nasty stuff.

But you can give me some of your yellow pills, and I should be fine… No, just kidding, of course. I am only going to give you a hand and ask you to touch me in a few spots, that would do. I am easy that way.

Oh, well, then yes, yes! We are both adults, why not, I guess a casual encounter, casual intimacy, no offense given, none taken.

Precisely, I only need five minutes tops. I could do it myself, you could do it yourself but doing it together is so much better, let’s join forces!

I agree. I don’t think that we are hurting anyone here. That flight attendant hurt me in a way and is hurting you now by making you wait but we are going to be just… consensual, completely consensual, even enthusiastic, why not? Just a quick encounter while others getting their lunch, even a kind of a private environment, nobody should even notice. They should come up with an app, in fact, so that people could express their availability, whoever is on the flight together. There are probably several potential “couples” on this flight that would not mind to do the same. We are so lucky to have run into each other and communicated like two grown adults about it. Again, no one would even notice if the timing is right...

Busted

The neighbor on my right banged her hand on her table and said very loudly:

That’s enough. I’ve seen enough. It is a sexual harassment. You’ve been showing me naked pictures for more than an hour and now are trying to convince me to go to the restroom with you? For few minutes? I am filing a lawsuit when we land, and I am going to get all your money that you will earn from your yellow pill!

What pictures? Your honor, mam, stewardess… sir, (to the neighbor on on my left) hi, how are you? What pictures, please, tell them that I had shown no pictures at all, I am just typing away on my laptop, and the batteries will die soon, we have no electric outlet here...

Well, you’re kind of been more graphic than ordinarily expected of a fellow traveler…

What, why, what do you mean? I am typing for myself, what business you two have in reading what I am writing?...

We can’t help it, sir. It’s a tiny space, you’re smack in between us, you are using large, actually HUGE letters, unusual fonts, people can probably see them from five rows behind, and what are we supposed to do? Our eyes wander and they land, and, inevitably so, they land on what you are typing right in front of them, right in front of us...

We can’t help but read it. What if you were a victim of kidnapping and was trying to alert us with this unusually large bright fonts? We were simply paying attention. But no, you are up to no good. I should not have read it. Next time, if you need any help and try to alert your neighbors with these large unusual fonts, I hope that they will not read it, I hope that no one will read it, ever. Disgusting.

This is preposterous. I am suing YOU for reading my private typing.

Large bright unusual font within few inches of people’s faces is NOT private at all. You had advertised your writing and you got your audience. Besides, you are describing me, right there: the postal worker, you recognized the regalia. A woman. You were trying to seduce me by your writing, your fantasies. Well hear this: I am not easy, and YOU will learn it a hard way.

Yep, buddy, you also overheard that my name was Jake, you must have heard that I was selling a pill, so this closes the circle, you were writing about us. In the beginning you wrote that you were not going to describe us but you did nothing else but indulge your sick fantasies while bringing us into them, this is not cool, not cool at all! And, by the way, so that you know it for future reference, the pills may make you flush, as a side effect, not blush, check your google next time.

Well, well, now my writing is no good….

Excuse me, what’s with all this commotion.

Oh, mom, please, don’t get involved, please, go back to your seat....

Mam, passengers from first class are not allowed to enter the economy side, please, go back to your seat. (Stewardess)

Mom, I’ll come join you shortly, I can’t stand it in here any longer, they’ll eat me up alive.

What? You have mom flying with you, and she is in first class?

Yes, I also have a place there, I have two tickets.

What are you doing in here then? You came to harass us?

I just wanted to do some typing till the batteries ran out. You would not be writing this kind of a text next to your mom, would you?

We would not be writing anything like this ever, next to anyone, even by ourselves, how these things even cross your mind?

You mean to type things or the actual plots?

Did you want to seduce me?

I don’t know how to answer that question without either getting in trouble or offending you. I remain silent...

You keep typing every word we are saying.

That’s the idea, I can hardly keep up with you two but I hope to get it all exactly right.

You must erase it all.

No, why should I?

We are as much the authors of this as you are and have some rights. Erase it!

No, I am the author, and you two are only the standbys, extras lucky to peek into this fine story.

I need to go to the restroom, and when I am back, I hope that you are gone, Sir. (Left neighbor)

You too?! (Right neighbor.)

But I have to go, what am I supposed to do now, stay away for the entire flight? Stranded, like a dolphin on a seashore sand?

Another insensitive analogy under the circumstances, are you guys in cahoots?!

Who, we? I don’t know this prick at all, today is the first time that I ever see him.

Please, watch your language. (Me)

I don’t believe you! I saw you smile to each other.

What are you talking about, when?

When we were boarding, I even heard you whisper.

He was whispering to himself while writing this nonsense, nothing to do with me...

OK you two, I’m done, finished here, vacating my middle seat and leaving you to sort this all out. Good luck now. Don’t visit the restrooms, don’t fall asleep, don’t meditate, don’t whisper, don’t look at each others pants, and don’t even smile. I am happy to be gone, finally. It’s been nice having your noses in my laptop but that’s enough now, the last punctuation mark is the point right here.

Epilogue

Flight attendant: I would like to write a formal complaint about these fellows. I am going to get to the bottom of it. Who knew whom and what was the intention. I am on a business trip now, and will be asking my employer to file a sexual harassment lawsuit against them, on my behalf. This was the last time that jerk flew first class, you mark my words, I am going to get him for all he’s got.

(Wrote it for another challenge but forgot to post.  It is perfectly R Rated. Enjoy.)

Some students were looking with mouths slightly open (and drooling, may be?), following her every move. She felt a bit uncomfortable, self aware. This was her first class after achieving teaching credentials. A kind supe (supervisor) lurking in the back of the room had been making encouraging faces. She looked around, smiled, took a deeper “let’s begin” breath..- the recently painted room could have been aired a little better (and they should have probably used a different paint, how unconsidered, after all, these are kids in here!)... - oh, well, let’s get on with it now.

“Hello. My name is Ms. Dorothy. I will be your Writing teacher (or an instructor? or a guide?). Although this class is called ‘Composition Theory 1’ in the catalogue, we’ll leave this and some other formalities outside of this room. Let’s think of our subject as Writing, with a capital W. A process and result that precariously hinges on the two questions, also starting with capital Ws: What? and Why?

So, What is writing and Why? What makes it engaging, effective? How does it trick the readers into the thick of lines and valleys of letters even as some of us must brave optical challenges (or deficiencies?)?... These are the questions to scratch the surface of during this semester…

By the way, we will not take your attendance today. For the next two weeks, feel free to roam around among the classes and decide what you’d like to do and why.

A queer (or strange? or novel? or even revolutionary?) feature of this class is that rather than asking you questions and telling you what you already probably know, - or rather have a perfect capacity of figuring out on your own, - I am hereby presenting you with the following challenge. During our entire time together, you will be the ones asking me questions which I will attempt, during the class hours, to answer. You are to formulate your theories and ideas about Writing in a binary form to which I will answer either “Yes” or “No.” If I provide no answer at all, that could mean: “may be,” or “may be not,” or “may be it is not relevant altogether,” - those distinctions are not essential, so I won’t bother.

As during any creative process that exerts pressures and causes frustrations, the quality of your language and purity of your thoughts might give. I don’t mind. Every missed class without a valid excuse will cost you a grade. Your only paper will be a short essay of no more than two hundred words on this topic: “Writing: What and Why?” This was my last full sentence (word sequence?) addressed to you this semester.”

The mouths have shut. A cloud of silence started pouring cats and dogs as it encountered a cloud of confusion. The supe was beaming with excitement, scanning the class, and taking motion pictures with an iphone.

The magic (or wonder?) of writing may or may not draw upon expressions (or suppressions?) of doubts either in author's’ inability to make right decisions for protagonists or their actions or through uncertainties of outcomes as understood by readers (including the author of the same). A chance plays a huge role in both.

Red guy: “WTF, also starts with a capital W.”

Green girl: “Wait.” To the teacher: “Thank you. May I speak?...” Silence. “Oh, yes, I got it.” To the rest of the group: “I think that I understand this challenge. The key is for us to work together…”

Shiny guy: “Let’s walk together. I am out of here…”

Green girl: “Well, wait. I think that if we work together and organize our thoughts, this can be a great opportunity…”

Commotion as some started to leave.

Green girl: “I will wait.”

On a larger scale, doubts play a role in the entire process of writing’s creation and consumption. For example: what to write/read, when is a good time to do it, how many ideas per word or sentence, where to stop, color contrast on the electronic devices, food and sleep, and finally why to write and most importantly read. These points of bifurcation determine who we are and who we will never be.

Red guy, to the teacher: “May we also fart when enraged at our own failures to get a word from you?... Silence. I guess it does not matter, which means we could...”

Beaver girl, interrupting: “Only when you are solo, may be you can ask her to stay after class to ‘clarify something,’ but not while the rest of us are in attendance...”

Green girl: “OK, wait, wait. Let me just say now that this is great. I mean what could have been better? Essentially, aren’t we learning from reading and from each other, our peers, anyway? Or aren’t we supposed to be learning this way if we weren’t for some reason? When we’re done with the class, how else can we grow…”

Yellow girl: “You better make it interesting for me.”

Bistre guy: “Have you read the list of materials? It says: Google. Shouldn’t we get a summary at least?...”

Green girl: “This will limit us…”

Bistre guy: “I got it but at least some direction. We are paying money, mind you…”

Beaver girl: “Oh my, you’re kidding, I’ve managed free tuition, thank goodness...”

Bistre guy: “Not I…”

Green girl: “That’s the point, we got ourselves, we pay to work together…”

Bistre guy: “Why not just go on that same google and look for writing groups and join them for a weekly virtual get together, it’s free! Or join that thing, what it’s called… ah, the Prose, or something, online…”

Green girl: “The captive audience, dummy. Those online are here today nowhere to find tomorrow, all busy with commitments, some are losers, with unknown goals, or anoraks altogether, you’ll waste your life. How many times have you started an online game with a stranger just to find yourself hanging in the cyberspace waiting for new partners? We pay to the school to guarantee some kind of meaningful collegiality for some time. You heard the punishment for not showing up without an excuse…”

Red guy: “Right here, everyone, stop. I got it. Let’s just cry. Right now, everybody, together. With an utmost sincerity.”

The supe stopped filming. It was an unexpected move. A forbidden knack that could threaten this wonderful experiment… What was Ms. Dorothy thinking now? May be we shall call in boxes of kleenex to show our imperturbability, like we’re ready for anything? Like we’ve expected this turn of events? Or may be we shall transform this space into a preschool, bring in toys, diapers, and a music boombox? Who will lead the circle time?...

Red guy: “You, Beaver girl, do you think you have a chance in a world to become anything but a stay home mom or an expensive escort?

The truth is that if one of us becomes someone remotely read online or offline, the best we can count on is technical writers for a computer application or travel guides or cooking books may be. Some will be forced to slave away as erotic or pornography writers. The smartest will become lawyers, who are mostly the readers of technical nonsense. You should have lived differently, had other interests. You should have not indulged yourselves in excessive reading, empty dreams, instead develop yourselves into leaders or learn useful skill which you could put to work.

The red guy turned... purplish. The tears showed in his eyes.

Ms. Dorothy was ready to stoically withstand any abuse expected by the academic who donated this “Writing: What/Why, Yes/No, Google” class to the school. But no one had prepared her for this aggressive expose of an extreme emotion right away, without any build up, a sharp, grotesque deviation from the expected, logical steps, skipping right into the crazy self-deprecating act....

No one else showed any emotion. They were just sitting there looking at him.

Yellow girl: “I must say, you’re quite inventive in your invective; very artistic and... masochistic. Why have you even joined the class?”

Green girl came up to Red guy, she wrapped her arms around him in a tender but firm grip and said: “It’s OK, you can fart. We are a family now. At least for another three months.”

Beaver girl: “Thank you for a high praise but I think that you underestimate your peers a bit.”

Bistre guy: “Hey man, no, things are not that bad at all, nowhere near... You shall see.”

A (deep?) sigh of relief from the supe and instructor. They thought that this class included various child prodigies… Who was this Red guy… Supe scrolled through the roster and clicked on his name. Ah, dah! They counted on him to leave among the first batch. He was one of “controls,” a favor to the economics professor, his nephew.

Another bout of silence has set in. It seemed like the students who remained in the class have accepted the challenge. They flung their laptops open.

Google: “what to write?” 893,000,000 results; “why to write?” 540,000,000 results. They understood and closed their laptops.

The supe went back to beaming with happiness and filming with a phone.

Green girl: “Does writing provide answers?”

Silence.

Bistre boy: “Is writing an act of self indulgence?”

“Yes.”

Beaver girl: “Is writing an expression of a doubt?”

“Yes.”

As these young prodigious minds embark on a major literary discovery of their fictional lives, we could only imagine where it may take them, what else we might see if we decided to listen in. Ms. Dorothy said that she was expecting the purity of their thoughts to give. Are you?

The far away lights are gleaming increasingly weaker

A breeze, a cloud... the thermosphere...

Moving upwards

feels like submerging into a deep ocean lake,

a habitat of an ugly blobfish.

Speak to me.

Explain yourself.

What happened?

Silence.

It’s been shattered by the time we’ve reached the outer space.

Again. Together.

Now, its pesky debris nudge us here and there, never known when another one will hit again, hit each of us: silence.

A Short Poem on the Essential Elements of Irrational Bit Ethics

Dedications:

Dedicated to those who circle the Sun…

...Especially to my beloved Rose and Bud, tenderly

The poem:

Time: borrowed and spent

Dime: borrowed and lent

Rhyme: borrowed on end

Special thanks:

To the computing prowess of the blockchain technology and restless photons making all of this possible

To our community letting us borrow

To the generous advisory by DeepDoodle AI

To the support that is borrowed, not spent but lent on end!

Restlessly and bitingly yours*,

Sherlock AI (a flushing machine)

*The phrase initially borrowed by MemoryDrain AI

A fear of being hurt,

Being turned into pieces

of chert.

A fear of never again

wiping dry inner rain.

A fear of a week in the bed

by myself, playing Freud,

feeling sad.

A fear of an awful tomorrow

Fetching plenty of time

that is hollow.

And of other unthinkable calamities,

Including a fear of an insanity...

If this phone does not ring

And my heart skips a swing,

If today you won't call.

I have done everything,

This one's off my control.

1

It was awfully stormy in the city. The month of January raged outside.

Helen sat down on a soft cushiony bench, placed her hands on her very large round belly, and took a deep breath, followed by a slow but impatient expelling of the air from her lungs. Everything was heavy, hurting. She could not hold too much of oxygen for too long. The inward pressure of a fluid filled balloon, - also stretching prominently outwards, - beating of the heart, of the two hearts, the moves inside of her - all kept her grounded, tore her apart.

She was taking a pause from a shopping effort that she did not need to have just now. Why couldn’t she do it earlier? Why couldn’t someone else do it for her? Why wouldn’t she do without? Her frame was cracking and craving for a rest. Johnny was busy buying shoes downstairs leaving her inside a quieter area of the lingerie department. He promised to return quickly. She was acutely aware of many little discomforts in her body and wishing to be taking a nap at home. She closed her eyes.

2

When she opened them, her attention caught a mannequin with a bare perky torso featuring gorgeous panties by Princess Tam Tam and nothing else. It was about twenty feet away, and clearly a towering spit image of herself a year ago. It was a very fine work, realistically done with all the features of her face: eyes, eyebrows, lips, ears, and even dimples. Helen did some modeling during her university years, and her final gig was posing for this mannequin artist who found her on Model Mayhem. He had an order from Grenker for a fresh contemporary look. 

The artist had apologized in advance about his otherworldliness and during the process completely retracted himself from Helen emotionally, treating her as a sheer object. They had never talked but for the courtesies. His wife was often curled up in the corner of the studio, reading, rarely smiling. Visitors would come and go: executives, their spouses, scan technicians, friends, all wearing approving looks at her figure. They could see all of her very well but did not bother to know her at all.

A similar attention was given to the molded image in the store.  Shoppers would turn their heads, come check out items piled on the counter next to the doll and then take another close up look, some taking pictures. She too marveled at her once agile physique. The nostalgia made itself aware, which was not unemotional.

Could anyone recognize in Helen a model for that dummy twenty feet away? The face is mostly the same. She imitated the expression and sat still for two minutes, taking her chances to, or may be secretly in hopes of, being found out. But there was no immediate uproar except for a preschool aged boy. He would jump about, dashing from one mannequin to another. He looked at her for a moment, then again at the mannequin, then said something to his father in a language that she did not understand, pointing at her. His father quickly apologized and hushed his son away to continue their doll hunt.

3

It’s been awhile now, and she started to get annoyed at Johnny’s prolonged absence. She understood that it must have taken time trying things on and standing in line, but she wanted to go home now so much. She felt sick and dizzy. All of a sudden she heard a commotion.

Several well built men in suits filed in. She saw flashes of camera lights, all too familiar to her from modeling years. The shoppers turned their heads now towards the escalator from where this all was coming. Sure enough, in a few short moments the President with the first lady were making their way through the floor, greeting people, stopping for picture ops, checking out clothes, and chatting with the store manager. Helen knew that the first couple was in town but it did not cross her mind that they would conceive of visiting this department store. She felt trapped and quite agitated. That’s probably why Johnny was late: he could not get through to her, not right now, security may not have let him come up.

Too tired to stand up and walk away while feeling an increasing difficulty with keeping put, she adjusted her position for a better comfort,... and that’s when her water broke. There wasn’t much pain at the moment, just a trickle of the liquid. She immediately shouted out “Help!! My water broke! Please, help, quick, get me an ambulance! Please!” From that point on she wasn’t unnoticed any longer. She was surrounded by a dozen of helpful hands, they have arranged a cushion of pillows on the ground. One of the shoppers called herself in as a nurse and started taking pulse and asking people to keep a distance.

Helen was not herself from worries and tension, remembered very little, it all seemed completely out of control, things were done to her, she had no say from this point on. There it was, the long awaited moment. The classes that they took on how to give birth, the doula she hired (“Wish me luck, Jennifer! I will have to do it with your virtual self in my imagination.”), the doctor's’ advice - all mobilized one way or another for the action, drama, deliverance to be played out here and now. The nurse shook her head and said: “OK, girl, get ready.” She slipped her hands under Helen’s skirt and pulled down her panties.

4

A dozen of limelights, flashes, cameras, - from random amateurs and news channels alike, - all were dashing between the first couple and Helen until the President realized that something equally important was going on and came to satisfy his curiosity. The sight of a person giving birth was rather amusing. The onlookers created a respectable space for the nation’s head. He glanced at the action, understood what was going on, and turned shouting to his wife: “Darling, come here, dear, take a look. Lovely! It is so great to see so much support from everyone for this fine lady. So many skillful hands! That’s great. God bless you all!” The first lady smiled and stood by her husband.

Helen heard those words, she felt the crowd around her, she knew that she was being watched by hundreds of eyes present immediately here and perhaps many millions or billions more as people tune in to the media outlets for their dose of daily entertainment. Being a spotlight concerned her very little, however. Her first worry was whether or not this process goes on without any complications and ambulance arrives on time to take care of the mother’s and baby’s well being. Secondly, she felt upset that Johnny could not be by her side.

“Easy, easy, relax,.. now... Push! Push! Breathe, breathe.. Push, girl, push!” a confident voice of the nurse resonated inside of Helen’s head. It felt as if a huge knife went between her legs and started tearing her apart from the inside. The pain was excruciating.

“Beautiful! We are with you, dear lady, we are with you. I’ve never personally seen anything like this before, never. Giving a birth on a road or a department store, just like that in the middle of us all. It’s great. I feel like this woman right here is giving a birth to our new nation, new direction. Let her and her baby be known to all Americans, it is our charm to witness this new beginning, let them not be strangers to us all. Oh, no, they won’t be. Where is the ambulance? I hope that it arrives very soon. Security, please, make sure that the medics are allowed in without any delay. We need to do this right. Gosh, I feel for her.”

The President went on to his telephone, typing something up. In the next instance he raised his head and noticed the mannequin. He looked at it for awhile then looked again at Helen, then again at the mannequin. He whispered something to his wife who also took a comparative look. She shrugged. The President: “I say that here’s a curious coincidence. This doll right there looks very like this fine lady. If we did not spontaneously just now decide to visit here, I’d say that this was all staged by the press.” Chatters and laughter were heard among the journalists. “The ambulance is here. Good. I think that this all will be fine now. George, please, find out her name for me, take down her address, I would like to follow up.... Oh, see, here is the baby! Thank you everybody, what a day! ”

What a day indeed. Helen was lying on her back, exhausted but happy. A nice healthy baby girl was screaming her lungs out to the crowd’s cheers and delight. Johnny was here now, holding his daughter. Half an hour ago she was shopping, some minutes ago she was still unknown, unrecognized, but now all the country, the world, the intelligent part of the universe, and probably the posterity were having a pleasure of welcoming her family to their tight attention span, at least for a few precious moments. She was a stranger no longer.